


High Roller Club

by carpemermaid



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Banter, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Bets & Wagers, Bike Messenger Mike Ross, Bisexual Male Character, Flirting, Gambling, Getting Together, Hotel Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Harvey Specter, Poker, Praise Kink, Romance, Window Sex, counting cards, the puppy thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-27 05:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19784212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpemermaid/pseuds/carpemermaid
Summary: Harvey wants to play poker, but some punk kid at his poker table cheats his way to winning. Or, an alternate first meeting where Harvey and Mike both think they’re the ace in the hole. Mike counts cards. Harvey plays people.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All the thanks to **buildyourwalls** for not only sending me the [fic rec](https://archiveofourown.org/works/330890) that tipped me ass over tea kettle down the Marvey shipping hole, but also for always being down to babble, encouraging me to write this in the first place, and beta reading!
> 
> Some tags + the rating are for later chapters that'll be coming soon!

The casino buzzes with energy when Harvey ambles in—a glitzy mix of lights and sounds and gamblers worshiping at the altar of Lady Luck. Harvey scans the floor with a sharp, calculating sweep and moves into the poker area. Normally he prefers to dominate in private, closed-door games with high pots and higher stakes, but his win in court has him riding a successful high that he’s not quite ready to come down from.

Harvey feels like putting on a performance.

He spots a poker table that’s attracting a slight crowd. Harvey’s lips quirk up into a cheshire cat smirk. Showtime.

Harvey slides a hand down the front of his exquisitely tailored suit—pointed peak lapels, a gray vest so dark it’s nearly black, a deep burgundy tie, and the confident air inlaid in the threads that exudes his power as the best closer in New York—before parting the milling crowd of gamblers with purposeful strides towards the poker table he set his sights on.

Ray hadn’t blinked after court let out and Harvey told him to drop him off in Atlantic City. It wasn’t as thrilling as Vegas, but there’s an early meeting that couldn’t be pushed and Harvey wasn’t about to take a red eye back to make the meeting. Harvey could dazzle the crowd with his poker prowess close to home to scratch the itch.

When he reaches the table, he stands for a moment, observing before committing. His hand rests on the back of an open chair as he takes in the other players. A man with puffy cheeks and sweat on his upper lip, swimming in a cheap, muddy brown suit that looks like he got it at a Big & Tall drums his fingers on the table, tense and twitchy as the players make their bets. Two seats over from him, a woman blurts, “Call!” animatedly and tosses a couple twenty-five dollar chips into the pile at the center of the table, followed by the man hovering behind her squeezing her shoulders. She’s wearing a wedding ring and her companion isn’t, Harvey notes. He can’t turn off the habit of noticing everything around him.

Four other players add chips into the pot—two of which are unmistakably gambling addicts, another that keeps his face so stony that Harvey wonders if he’s constipated, and the last has chalk dust on his shirt sleeves, so Harvey pegs him for a teacher. An older gentleman with trim white whiskers folds his hand, the only player at the table that Harvey judges to be worth his time playing against. The last player—a skinny blond kid in a ratty hoodie with a hole in the sleeve of one elbow, ripped jeans that don’t even fit him right, and bruised bags beneath his eyes—slouches in his seat and slurps loudly on a pink bubble tea. He smirks at the other players before confidently tossing his bet to the center of the table without checking his cards, like he knows he’s got the hand in the bag.

 _Cocky_ , Harvey thinks, the corners of his mouth curling up against his will. The kid looks like he needed a fake i.d. to enter the casino underage.

It’s a modest-sized pot by Harvey’s standards, but several of the players have that focused look in their eye that says they want to win it.

Harvey plans to swan in and take it from them, just because he can.

The dealer flips a card from the deck and with a collective gasp and a smattering of applause, the kid wins the hand with a queen-high straight flush. Harvey quirks a brow. Signaling to the dealer, Harvey joins the game for the next hand while the dealer shuffles. He slides into an open seat one over from where the kid’s sitting, close enough to ruffle his feathers with a well-timed observation, but far enough away to keep an eye on him. The kid casts a quick glance Harvey’s way, then seems to make an assessment and darts his attention back to the game.

Harvey will show him he’s not someone to dismiss or ignore.

Harvey’s chips are exchanged for his buy-in and he organizes them in front of him, immediately marking himself as the player with the most money to burn. He leans closer, slinging an arm across the back of the empty seat between them. “Are you even old enough to gamble, junior? Or did you trip in here after your community college classes let out?”

The kid goes tense for a second, his whole body a tightly bound wire about to snap, then he pushes out a breath. He jerks his bony shoulder in a shrug. “Last I checked, you didn’t have to wear a three piece suit to play poker in Atlantic City on a Thursday.”

He follows up with a burbling pull on his bubble tea and a pointed look at Harvey’s impeccable three piece suit.

“How adorable, the little puppy bites,” Harvey drawls. “What’s your name, kid?”

Harvey half-expects he’ll blow him off and back out of the next hand with his previous winnings.

“Mike. Mike Ross,” he says, chewing on the straw between his lips.

Harvey’s fingers twitch with the urge to pull the mangled plastic from his mouth and slide it out of reach to impart a lesson on manners and poker etiquette that he’s sure would go over this kid’s head. He narrows his eyes. “There’s no point in James Bond impressions when you look like you rolled out of a frat house. Now me?” Harvey gestures grandly at his suit. “ _I’m_ pulling off Bond—way better than you might ever dream to, might I add. I won’t be offended if you take notes, go ahead.”

Mike juts his chin at Harvey, full of petulant indignation that amuses the shit out of Harvey.

A cocktail waitress passes and Harvey gets her attention without having to flag her down. She props her tray on her hip and subtly leans into Harvey’s space. Harvey catches Mike checking her out from the corner of his eye and silently agrees. He wants to tell Mike: _See, this is what it means to wear a three piece suit to play poker on a Thursday_. There are many pearls of wisdom he could gift to the train wreck beside him wearing a beat up pair of Converse with frayed, graying laces.

“What can I get you, sir?” Her name tag reads _Melissa_. For a moment Harvey considers closing Melissa, but first he wants to win at poker. “We have a special until six.”

“I’m easy: Macallan eighteen, neat.” Harvey returns Melissa’s smile and leans back in the seat, surveying the other players before the next hand begins.

Mike fails to hide that his attention trails after Melissa in her wake. Harvey might end up with a permanent smirk by the end of the night.

The married woman convinces the guy she’s with to stay for one more hand before they cash out. Harvey marks the pair down as antsy to get to the room they probably have booked. The teacher nods to the two gambling addicts and the older gentleman, thanking them for a good game as he gathers his chips. The other remaining players are the two addicts, the white-whiskered older man, Puffy Cheeks in the Big & Tall suit, the one so hyper-focused he might have digestive issues, and Billy the Kid masquerading as a grown up. Harvey snorts under his breath; this will be amusing.

If anything, he’ll present Mike Ross with a lesson in how it’s done in the big leagues.

The next game starts up with little fanfare. Harvey’s relaxed, waiting to begin his dazzling performance until after he lulls the other players into thinking they’ve got his number. Mike fidgets and plays with his pile of poker chips.

Melissa places Harvey’s drink at his elbow. Momentarily taking his eyes off the game to grant her a warm smile (just in case he decides to pursue her later in her shift), he slides her a card wrapped in a fifty, murmuring, “Thank you. Keep a tab open.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Specter,” Melissa says, squeezing his shoulder. “I’ll take good care of you tonight. I’m on until two, so let me know if you need anything.”

Harvey hums, tipping his head to the side to angle a charming smile up at her.

Before Harvey peeks at the cards the dealer sent his way, he finds Mike’s eyes flickering between Harvey and the gleaming black Amex Melissa’s slipping into a check holder folio that she tucks into her apron. Harvey catches his eye. “If you play your cards right, that’s what life gives you in return.”

He doesn’t miss the hungry look in Mike’s eyes when they seek out Melissa at the other end of their table while she checks in with the others. It doesn’t matter whether he wants the girl or the no limit credit card or both. Harvey takes pleasure in dangling the fact he _does_ have those things in front of Mike to tease him.

Mike snorts, tossing his head in disbelief. He mutters, “Sure, _okay_. Whatever you say, man.”

Harvey chuckles and checks his cards with a trained face. Nothing spectacular, a five of hearts and ten of clubs; he’ll let it ride if things get interesting, but isn’t above folding if he can’t press any buttons with bluffing, either. He sets the cards down and savors the first sip of Macallan, licking his lip to catch a stray drop.

Puffy Cheeks wins the first hand and within one round Harvey has his betting strategies figured out. Mike’s quiet, impatient sighs are distracting, but Harvey tunes him out in favor of watching the gambling addicts. They’re the two wildcards he’ll have to prod at carefully to tip them into betting aggressively. Mike takes the next two hands and then sinks low in his chair with reserved betting for a while. At first, Harvey thought he was inexperienced, but when Mike wins another hand with a five grand jackpot and a determined look blazing in his eyes, Harvey takes notice.

A pattern emerges.

Harvey pays close attention while appearing lazily amused by the game, his show on hold for the time being. Mike wins every hand when the pot climbs above a thousand dollars. Part of his restless fidgeting is an act, designed to make Harvey and everyone else at the table write him off as a kid with random luck, but once Harvey spends more than five minutes analyzing Mike as a serious player, he sees the signs.

Mike Ross is counting cards.

Harvey rubs his mouth and coasts, occasionally floating a high bet when he can bluff the other amateurs into thinking he’s got a great hand. Meanwhile, Mike’s eyes always fixate on the dealer before making a sweep counterclockwise around the table.

Awareness of the cards and the possible combinations are necessary to play the game, a strategy not necessarily against the rules, but Harvey suspects Mike’s plays aren’t a mere game strategy every time he wins the pot. It’s the look in his eyes, the barely there smug quirk of his lips, the way his shoulders relax after the dealer indicates his win—he knows exactly when to make his plays because he knows what the cards will be. To anyone else, it would be hard to tell—Mike lets other plays win enough and plays up his baby face enough that only someone like Harvey could read him.

Mike is toeing the line of legality and Harvey’s life is the law.

 _Don’t play the odds, play the man_ , Harvey thinks.

There might not be federal or state statutes ruling against card counting without assistance from external devices, but Harvey knows the casino’s owner. He’s one of many that gladly ban players suspected of counting tactics. If Mike gets caught, the owner’s likely to have Harvey draw any case he can against the kid in addition to banning him from the premises.

Tapping his fingers on the felt tabletop, Harvey leans over. “Tell me, what’s a kid like you doing playing poker on Thursday night, anyway?”

Mike jumps, whole body jerking. “Um. Dude, why not?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you.” Harvey keeps his body language relaxed in a ploy to set Mike at ease, corners of his mouth turned up. Mike clenches his hands in a cage over the top of his cards for a moment, then slides them into his lap. Harvey nearly snorts. He doesn’t need to see Mike’s hands to read him. “And don’t call me dude.”

Puffy Cheeks calls out a blustery, “ _All in_ ,” and shoves his pile of chips to the center of the table. The two stacks topple over. Harvey estimates it to be a little under twenty-five hundred added. Puffy Cheeks’s upper lip is beaded with sweat, face blotchy. He’s not entirely confident in his hand.

Harvey smirks, making a show of checking his cards. Puffy Cheeks is trying to bluff, a poor imitation of what Harvey did to plump up his chip pile two hands ago. Mike stares down Puffy Cheeks and has to use both hands to push all of his chips into the pile.

Now the pot’s worth around fifteen thousand.

Harvey’s brow lifts. Mike’s got that same subtle-but-not-subtle-enough determination lurking in those blue eyes again. Harvey purses his lips and folds.

Mike wins. Puffy Cheeks makes a pained sound, thumping a fist on the table. The dealer chides him and Puffy Cheeks leaves in a huff.

Mike re-stacks his chips, his empire of small monetary towers like a protective barrier from the other players.

It’s chump change to Harvey, but he suspects it’s very much not to Mike Ross.

In Harvey’s experience, the only people that break the law either think they can get away with it or are so desperate they don’t care about the risk. He would wager that Mike isn’t here to push dumb luck just because he’s clever. There’s something about the stiff set of his shoulders that has Harvey wondering what’s going on in this kid’s life that he needs to gamble to win fifteen grand on a Thursday in Atlantic City.

The sweeping glance Mike casts over the table at the remaining players is too practiced for Harvey to call it a good poker face. Still, it sparks Harvey’s competitive side. He will figure this kid out, read him and beat him, even when he’s counting cards.

“You’re not half bad,” Harvey says, eyeing Mike over the rim of his Macallan. The dealer shuffles the deck and flicks two cards for each player.

“My…my grandmother taught me. We play cards together,” Mike says beneath his breath, as if one of the floor men in the room will kick him out for speaking during game play. His shoulders hunch.

 _Press where it hurts_.

Harvey files this bit of information about Mike to call on later, when it’ll win big. He checks his cards with his mask firmly in place. It’s a good set of cards, he’ll have a lot of options depending on the way this round plays out. He’s got a higher likelihood of several winning hands with these two cards. Even better, Mike’s settled back into his holding pattern of conservative poker player after winning such a big pot, his way of keeping suspicion at bay.

It’s time for Harvey to put on a show and shine.

“Pay attention,” Harvey murmurs to Mike. He conceals a satisfied smirk at the phantom press of Mike’s gaze locked on his profile.

The white-whiskered gentleman starts the bets at an easy fifty bucks, sliding his chips across the table. Harvey can’t get a read on him, it’s a good opener that doesn’t reveal much about what cards he holds. Gambling Addict #1, on the other hand, gets twitchy.

“Raise,” he blurts. He’s got beady eyes locked on the stack he nudges into the pot, as if there’s almost as much of a contact high coming off the chips he bets.

Harvey meets Gambling Addict #1’s eyes for an extended beat, drops his attention to his cards without checking them, and allows his lips to stretch into a slow smile.

“I’ll raise, too, gentlemen.” Harvey counts out two stacks of ten dollar chips and nudges his four hundred dollar bet into the pile in the middle of the table.

The gambling addicts exchange glances. They’re drawn to each other, two cuts of the same cloth.

Gambling Addict #2 tosses enough chips in and says, “Call.”

He’s down to about forty bucks if he doesn’t win this hand. Harvey won't let him. Another two cards are flipped and bets placed—Gambling Addict #2 is all in, chasing a high he has no chance of winning with whatever shitty cards he’s tapping his bitten-down fingers against.

There’s two red suit sixes. In Harvey’s hand is the six of spades and the king of hearts. So far he’s in with three of a kind, but the river might bring him an even better win.

Mike’s attention on Harvey is rapt. He had folded in the last round of bets. It’s a little pompous of Harvey, but he guesses Mike does it so he can watch Harvey. After all, he’s counting cards whether he’s trying to win or look like he’s not winning, so he probably has an idea of what Harvey’s playing with. A burning ember stokes to life in Harvey’s chest, the glow lighting him up from within at the kid’s sharp eyes boring into him.

The dealer reveals the last card. It’s a king of clubs. Harvey doesn’t let anything show on his face, but he flashes Mike a brief, blazing look.

They reveal hands around the table. Gambling Addict #2 is white-knuckling the arms of his seat because he’s hanging on in the game by the skin of his teeth with a low single pair. Harvey flips over his cards, a pleased, relaxed expression settling on his face.

Both gambling addicts stare at his full house with bugged out eyes. Applause trickles through the room from the people watching. Harvey only has eyes for Mike.

“See? That’s how it’s done.” Harvey toasts the final sip of his whisky at Mike and downs it before gathering his winnings. He’s up by another eleven thousand, bringing his chip value to a cool thirty-five grand.

“You got a lucky deal,” Mike says, attention flickering to the chips Harvey’s stacking into neat piles. “You know what they say about luck? She’s fickle. Don’t be a smarmy winner, or the tide will turn on you when you least expect it.”

Harvey contains his snort of amusement to a dignified cough. Not only does he expect Mike to sit up and try to come for him, he’s counting on it. Game on.

“Better a smarmy winner who got it fair and square because I’m good at playing than, well—” Harvey’s eyes sweep Mike in a judging once-over that says everything he doesn’t voice.

Mike sits up, back a rigid line. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Harvey lifts his eyebrows, but leaves Mike to stew in his own guilt. He doesn’t even have to waste breath on well-timed barbs alluding to Mike’s cheating. Mike gets himself worked up all on his own.

It’s like he’s a stressed out little mutt with all that shaking he’s trying to control. Harvey almost feels bad. Almost. Not thirty-five thousand bad. Like hell he’s losing this game to this punk playing loose and fast with right and wrong.

Harvey Specter isn’t that charitable or nice to hand over his money so easily.

Now that he’s hinted at knowing what Mike’s doing, Harvey’s competitiveness flares stronger. He wants to get a rise out of Mike when he beats him because Harvey’s the more skilled player between them. Harvey’s an ace in the hole and Mike Ross is a cheater.

“Will you take off those training wheels now?” Harvey asks.

“Training wheels? Your wallet’s going to need more than training wheels when I win all those chips from you,” Mike replies, fire in his eyes.

“Careful, kiddo,” Harvey says, corners of his mouth curled up, “wouldn’t want to give off the impression that you’re here to gold dig.”

Mike scoffs. “I’m not. I’m just here to play poker. Maybe if you shut up, we could get back to that.”

“So let’s play, rookie,” Harvey taunts, pinning Mike in place with a piercing look.

There’s that stubborn lift of Mike’s chin again. Harvey’s a little worried at how much he likes it. Mike’s not like the wet blanket Harvard grads Jessica keeps angling for him to interview as an associate for the firm. He’s challenging and meets Harvey at each sniping barb with one of his own.

“Enough yapping, let’s get back to the game,” says the white-whiskered man.

Harvey shoots him a mildly apologetic look, flicking his hands up in partial placation. Mike pushes up the sleeves of his hoodie, thin wrists on display. Harvey frowns. The hoodie is bulky enough to hide it, but Mike’s practically skin and bones. He pushes off the unbidden worry for a stranger and accepts the hand he’s dealt.

Harvey’s feeling the odds with a king of diamonds and a jack of spades. He wants this showdown to be between Mike and him, so he bets aggressively the first round, forcing everyone else around the table to play all-in if they want to try their luck with their hands. Mike’s got skin in the pot to the tune of twelve grand. Harvey’s barely scraped the surface of his own chips to dominate the group of players. Another card reveals itself as the ten he needs—if a queen ends up in the river, Harvey’s going to win with a straight.

“Let’s quit kidding around and up the stakes,” Harvey suggests.

Mike meets Harvey’s challenging look with one of his own. The corners of his mouth twitch up. “ _Finally_. Welcome to the game.”

“All in.” Harvey keeps his voice even, smirking at the gasps from the crowd of onlookers. “What about you?”

“Same,” Mike says. He’s worked harder this round to school his poker face, but Harvey still has the proverbial card up his sleeve.

“Won’t your grandmother be proud for schooling you on how to walk right into a betting trap?” Harvey pretends to be disappointed.

Anger flashes across Mike’s face. He all but shoves his chip pile to the middle of the table. “I said I was all in.”

The river card’s the queen Harvey needs—the queen of hearts. This time Harvey has to exercise some effort in keeping his good fortune off his face. Mike sucks his lips between his teeth and closes his eyes.

The others are out one by one when Harvey reveals his hand. The white-whiskered man nods in concession. Harvey’s preparing to lean in to sweep his winnings to his seat.

“I told you how fickle Lady Luck could be, dude,” Mike says quietly. He’s watching Harvey with a calmness he hasn’t shown all night. He shakes his head once, like it’s a real shame. “And grammy didn’t raise no fool.”

Mike slaps his cards on the table. The ace and jack of hearts draw a new round of gasps. Harvey gapes, stunned.

That little punk won with a royal flush.

Before Harvey comes out of his stupor, Mike Ross sweeps fifty thousand dollars in chips into the makeshift sling he makes with his hoodie and makes a hasty escape with Harvey’s winnings.

Harvey won’t stand for that. He should’ve won that hand—would’ve won big against all the other players if Mike Ross hadn’t picked tonight to bend the laws of right and wrong.

“Gentlemen,” Harvey says, getting up.

Harvey stops at the house’s chip exchange, but he missed Mike. He scans the bustling floor, the clang-chime-ding of the slots and other games an irritating background to Harvey’s mind at work. Where would he go if he was barely legal and had fifty thousand dollars burning a hole in the pocket of thrifted jeans?

One way or another, Harvey isn’t letting Mike Ross get away with this.


	2. Chapter 2

Harvey finds Mike sitting on the curb outside, hands methodically pushing through his hair so it sticks up wildly in the front.

“What, you’re not cutting and running as fast as you can? Can’t take the heat of that much money burning in your pocket?” Harvey grins sharply when Mike jumps at his voice.

“I—no, I’m,” Mike pushes out a strained breath. “Waiting for my Uber.”

Harvey hums and slips his hands into his pockets. “Even more record of your departure and location.” Harvey _tsks_. “You suck at this.”

“What?” Mike bolts to his feet. The deer-in-headlights look melts away when he gets control over himself. His chin lifts slightly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Harvey lets silence hang for a minute between them, staring Mike down to look for the cracks in his composure. His lips turn up at the corners. “You were counting cards.”

Mike’s eyes go comically wide before he flinches and schools his expression into an approximation of someone who believes they did nothing wrong. He misses the mark by a mile.

“I’m sure you’re aware that counting is illegal.” Harvey knows it technically isn’t, at least in poker, but he’s selling it with enough confidence for Mike to buy it because that’s what he does. “Yet, I’m willing to overlook that misdemeanor this time in favor of taking what’s mine. So, I’d like my winnings now, but thanks for taking care of the pot for me.”

Mike opens and closes his mouth twice, hands grasping at air.

Harvey continues, pacing in a sedate circle around Mike to set him further on his back foot. “I represent the owner of this casino and I’d need more hands than yours and mine combined to count the number of cases he’s pursued against people he caught cheating here. Oh, and they were all banned on top of lawsuits I won for him. You see, Mike, I’m very good at what I do.” Harvey pauses in front of Mike, head tipped to the side. “You don’t want to cross me. Especially not in cou—”

“You can’t prove shit,” Mike says, words tumbling forth in a rush. He raises his eyebrows and points at Harvey, just shy of jabbing into the fine silk blend of his vest. “According to a ruling on banning players in a New Jersey Supreme Court, only the New Jersey Casino Control Commission has the power to exclude skillful players. There are no bylaws at the local, state, or federal level on counting cards in the U.S. and even if there _were_ , you wouldn’t be able to prove _anything_ about the way I played in there.” Mike takes his hand away from Harvey to stab in the casino’s direction. “I’m just a lucky player. You don’t even look like you need money, dude. Why don’t you go back in there and make some more?”

 _Oh no_ , crosses Harvey’s mind. He’s cute when he’s determined like that. Mike’s cheeks have two high spots of color and his eyes hold a fierceness Harvey recognizes well when he looks in the mirror.

“Don’t call me dude,” Harvey says, narrowing his eyes against his growing interest in Mike and who the hell he is. “I already told you, I represent the casino and with the security footage of the game—”

“Bullshit.” Mike gets in Harvey’s face, possibly in an attempt to intimidate him. Harvey eats criminal punks like Mike for breakfast. Their chests brush together. “All that recording would show is how I got lucky on some hands. No matter your argument, it would never hold up in court. Do you know the way gambling works? Or do you need me to explain that to you, too?”

Annoyingly, Mike is clever. Harvey thought he would scare him off by flashing his lawyer card, but it’s only revealed that Mike might be Harvey-level smart as well. A criminal who reads up on exactly what laws he is or isn’t breaking before he does it, maybe. More annoying, Harvey finds himself drawn to him. He wants to know more, see what else Mike is capable of.

“Why don’t you, since you seem to know so much on it?” A new idea is forming in Harvey’s head, a way for him to keep his money and teach Mike a lesson in what playing the odds will get him. “You know, gambling is when you’re playing against the house hoping you’ll get blackjack.” Harvey leans closer to mutter in Mike’s ear. “What I do, kid…is play against people.”

Harvey can only tell that Mike shivers because he’s standing so close. Harvey steps back, lets his gaze rake up and down in assessment. He only makes crazy plays when they promise a high return, and what he plans to suggest offers several tempting possibilities.

“If you think you’re so confident in your abilities, then you won’t say no to a rematch,” Harvey proposes. He arches a brow. “Double or nothing.”

“You—what?” Mike stutters.

A sardonic smirk tugs at Harvey’s mouth and he shrugs with an elegant grace. “You heard me just fine. I’ll even put it down in writing, a signed agreement to the terms.”

Harvey allows Mike a minute to think about it, lets him consider this is the best deal he’s heard all night. Harvey’s not the best closer for nothing. There’s no way someone as desperate as Mike would say no to the chance at doubling his winnings.

Too bad Harvey doesn’t plan on letting him leave the premises with a cent of it.

His eyes trace the hollow of Mike’s throat and he purses his lips in consideration. He won’t let Mike win, but maybe he’ll get something else out of it instead so the kid doesn’t feel like the night is a total letdown. Lady Luck is fickle, after all.

“What do you say?” Harvey presses with the casual confidence of someone that knows when to apply pressure and when to give breathing room.

Mike’s visible internal debate ends abruptly and he meets Harvey’s gaze. “Okay.”

“Good choice.” Harvey smiles like a snake in the grass and gestures for Mike to precede him back into the casino. He grabs the hood of Mike’s pullover when he makes a wrong turn toward the private rooms. “Ah-ah, this way, rookie. This is better taken care of in private.”

Harvey thanks himself for booking a room at the hotel before arriving, just in case. His foresight is a beautiful thing sometimes.

“But the rooms they have are—” Mike cuts off at a look from Harvey.

Harvey steers him to the main hotel lobby attached to the casino.

“Good evening, sir, how can I serve you tonight?” asks the concierge.

“Checking in. Specter,” Harvey says, sliding his card across the marble countertop. Mike hovers behind him.

After a few minutes, the concierge provides a folder with the room key. “Enjoy your stay, Mr. Specter.”

The elevator ride is quiet, with Mike watching Harvey, arms crossed as he leans against the wall. Harvey is amused, wondering what wild assessments Mike’s making about him. The melodic chime announces their arrival and Harvey crooks two fingers at Mike.

Harvey keeps half an eye on Mike to see his reaction when Harvey opens the door to the luxurious suite. It’s worth it for the comical journey Mike’s face goes through. The room drips in finery, with a sitting area and a bed fit for a king on a platform facing floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the coastline.

“Holy shit,” Mike mumbles under his breath. He glances at Harvey before cautiously exploring the room, poking his head into the bathroom where Harvey knows there’s a large glass shower and a jacuzzi tub. Mike’s awed voice echoes against the marble in the bathroom, “Holy _shit_.”

Harvey puts in a call to the concierge to deliver a fresh deck of cards to the room, along with dinner. He orders enough for two. Only because he’s feeling magnanimous about taking fifty grand back from Mike.

Harvey searches in a drawer near the phone for hotel stationary and a complimentary pen. He removes his jacket and folds it with care over the back of the couch and unbuttons his cuffs, rolling his sleeves to the elbow. Harvey takes a seat on the settee and writes a hasty, but well worded contract stating the terms of what he’s willing to agree to for this challenge.

Mike eventually loses interest in exploring every corner of the suite and leans over the back of the couch, peering over Harvey’s shoulder.

Mike points out an observation in the wording.

“Oh, so you know about contracts, too? Color me surprised,” Harvey muses with a chuckle. “The puppy can do many tricks.”

“Funny,” Mike says as he rounds the sofa to drop beside Harvey, grabbing for the pen.

Harvey holds it out of his reach. “Let’s let the lawyer work, hmm?”

“Conflict of interests by an unbiased party,” Mike spouts like he’s reading from a dry textbook from Harvey’s Harvard days.

“Goes for you, too.” Harvey doesn’t look up from the contract. “If we’re going to be technical about it.”

Mike sighs. “So let me look at it, too. I’m not just going to agree to give you carte blanche over this arrangement so you can set yourself up to win from all angles.”

“Relax, we can revise it. Within reason.”

“I bet you win all of your clients over with that smarmy double-speak.” Mike snorts, flopping back against the settee. He plays with the strings of his hoodie and props his feet on the table, crossed at the ankle.

Harvey snaps in front of his face without looking. “Down.” Mike hesitates in silent disbelief for a moment, then plants his feet back on the floor. “Good boy. Can’t have a puppy with poor manners.”

“Woof, woof,” Mike deadpans.

Harvey puts the finishing touches on the agreement and offers it to Mike, flicking it out of reach twice before Mike makes a frustrated noise and snatches the contract. Harvey crosses a leg over his knee and drapes his arms along the back of the sofa while Mike skims it. Mike makes a grab for the pen and scribbles his own corrections before presenting it back to Harvey.

Harvey hums, somewhat impressed. Mike caught a loophole and a minor mistake. They spend several minutes hashing out the negotiation.

By the time they finish, a soft knock sounds at the door.

“Go answer that,” Harvey commands.

“Uh…okay.” Mike gets the door and falters, swiveling to cast a questioning look at Harvey. “Did we order room service?”

“We did. Let them in.” Harvey plucks a cash tip from his wallet. “Thank you.”

The staffer wheels a cart of covered dishes into the room. “Enjoy your evening, gentlemen.”

Amongst the assortment of domed dishes, a fresh pack of cards rests on a tray, still wrapped in plastic. Harvey ignores the staffer’s discreet exit and lifts the lids one at a time, revealing a steak, salmon, and a plate of sushi.

Harvey settles onto the sofa with a few different dishes to try first, tasting from each plate and humming at the burst of flavors. Chef Janine outdoes herself every time Harvey pays a visit.

Mike hovers in Harvey’s peripheral vision until it grates on Harvey’s nerves.

“Sit down and eat, will you? Jesus.”

“Oh. Um. Thanks,” Mike says, collapsing beside Harvey once more.

His warmth is nice at Harvey’s side. He picks his way through the covered dishes with the restrained air of someone that’s starving, but being nice about it. Those skinny wrists stick out from the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Dig in, kid,” Harvey says firmly. He relaxes when Mike starts to eat in earnest.

Mike makes appreciative noises for the five-star cuisine throughout the meal. It’s more than a little distracting, and Harvey shifts several times without giving away that Mike’s affecting him. They finish eating and Mike clears the plates off the coffee table.

“Here.” Mike tosses the sealed deck of cards at him and Harvey snatches it out of the air. Mike grins. “Sweet catch.”

Harvey hums in response and slides a thumb beneath the plastic edge, ripping it free. Mike sits across from him and pushes up the hoodie sleeves, elbows propped on his knees. Harvey shuffles the deck a few times and sets it aside, flashing Mike a look that says _don’t trust me?_ when Mike swipes the deck to shuffle it a few more times himself.

“Do you have collateral to put up against this?” Mike asks, reaching into his pocket and waving the money stack.

“I’m good for it,” Harvey answers. “Isn’t the suite and the room service and the amount I exchanged for chips enough to give that away?”

“What if I don’t believe you?” Mike twists the hoodie strings around his finger, unwinds, then repeats it again.

Sighing, Harvey fishes his cell phone from his jacket pocket and dials his bank. He goes through the prompts to get to his balance and puts the call on speakerphone so Mike can hear the readout. Mike’s expression melts from challenging to wide-eyed shock.

“I’m good for it,” Harvey repeats. “Shall we play?”

“I’ll deal first, then you,” Mike agrees. “Best out of three games.” He belts out in song, “Signed, sealed, delivered—I’m yours.”

A bubble of laughter spills out of Mike, clearly amused with himself. Harvey’s lips twitch. Mike better watch it, or he’ll get the kid to agree to that, too.

Mike deals their hands and sets the deck aside. He seems to have forgotten what they’re doing here, after being fed. It’s like this is what he’s like beneath the guilty jitters weighing on his shoulders Harvey witnessed earlier. Now he’s animated and talkative. Mike really is like a puppy, overly friendly now that Harvey’s given him some treats.

That sort of loyalty is dangerously seductive to Harvey.

“Hey,” Mike says before Harvey can look at his cards. Mike’s brows pinch together. “Why are you bothering playing poker with me when you could’ve scored a night with that hot waitress?”

“Who says I won’t after I’m done kicking your ass in cards?” Harvey leans forward. “First, I want to regain my money, then…” Harvey shrugs, “Melissa gets off at two and the night’s still young.”

“You’re one of those overconfident douchebags, huh?” Mike puts bite into his words, but Harvey catches the there-and-gone look in his eyes.

Disappointment or jealousy, Harvey can’t get a read on it. “Quite the contrary, when it comes to my partners. Keep buttering me up like that and I won’t order any dessert to the room.”

They play without bothering to make bets, so the game goes quickly. These are all-in rounds, best of three games with double or nothing on the line. Harvey remains cool-headed through the first hand with a pair of queens and another pair shaping up on the table after the flop and the turn. Mike doesn’t realize it, but there’s a slight frown on his face as he reaches for the river card. Before he can reach it, Harvey interjects because they aren’t on the public floor, so he can bend the rules and goad Mike a bit.

“Tell me why you were counting cards in the first place?”

Mike’s hand retreats from the deck of cards as if it will burn him. “I wasn’t.”

Harvey rolls his eyes. “Relax, McDermott, this is off the record.” He makes a placating gesture. “You ate that steak like you haven’t seen a decent meal in weeks. I doubt the wear in your clothes are a fashion statement. I’m just curious.”

There’s little trust in Mike’s steely gaze, giving him the appearance that he’s even younger. He sets his cards aside and stuffs his balled fists into the pocket of his sweater. Harvey doesn’t stop him for bouncing his knee restlessly.

“It’s a lot of money,” Harvey points out. “If you’re such an upstanding, law-abiding citizen like you say, then why the gambling? A kid your age should be in college, studying for your future. What’s your poison—drugs?”

Mike’s unimpressed by Harvey’s line of questioning, his face shuttering. “I’m sure that’s the life you got to lead, and now you get to live the high life where money grows on trees, but you don’t know me and it’s none of your god damn business, Mr. Specter.”

“Harvey,” he says belatedly, realizing he never offered it before. “My name is Harvey.”

“Well, _Harvey_ ,” Mike says. “Quit pretending to be the caring D.A. so we can get back to playing poker. Bruce Wayne’s a better look on you.”

Mike flips the river card and his shoulders slump. Harvey guesses he’s stuck with a trash hand compared to Harvey’s two pair. Harvey reveals his winning hand against Mike’s unmatched high card and a three of clubs.

“First round goes to me,” Harvey gloats.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Mike counters, gathering the cards together and shuffling the deck.

“Why, are you volunteering to get behind me?” Harvey lets his voice dip into a honeyed tone and quirks a brow in amusement when his words leave Mike floundering for a response. “Maybe that would be a good way to celebrate me dominating you in poker.”

Mike gapes at him, mouth hanging open and cheeks coloring. Harvey takes the opportunity to stretch languidly when Mike’s eyes wander over him, tinged with hunger. Apparently he wouldn’t be opposed to playing with Harvey.

Harvey holds a hand out for the deck of cards and brushes his fingers against Mike’s when he deposits them in his waiting hand. Harvey’s mouth curves and he shuffles.

“If I win this next one, there’s no point in playing the last.” Harvey deals two cards to Mike and two for himself. “But even after I beat you, there’s no reason you have to run off right away.”

Mike takes his cards, peeking at Harvey through his lashes. “Even if that happens, who says I want to stick around? I could go back downstairs to try my luck again.”

Harvey shrugs, feigning disinterest. “You could, but I’d only follow you down to drag your ass back up here. I told you, I want to keep you from getting banned. If you go against me like that, does that mean you’re asking for a spanking?” Harvey clucks his tongue. “You seem to need a strong, guiding hand.”

Mike makes a strangled sound and tries to hide behind his cards. His ears are flushed red. Harvey backs off and allows Mike a minute to cool off, going for his own hand.

The hand isn’t as good as the first round and nothing useful shows up for Harvey in the flop. Mike struggles out of his hoodie and tosses it over the arm of his seat. Harvey’s relieved to discover that he’s skinny but not worryingly so beneath the sweater, as he’d feared before.

“I don’t remember anything in the rules about this being strip poker in a college dorm,” Harvey says, though he’s not complaining. “That would certainly make things more interesting.”

“Double or nothing on fifty grand isn’t interesting enough for you already?”

“That’s a regular Thursday for me.”

Mike scoffs and waves Harvey off. The turn card flips. Harvey doesn’t have a lot of options other than to distract.

“If that ploy at strip poker was a way to draw my attention away from the card you needed to squirrel away so you’ll win, you went about it all wrong. For one, you took off your best bet at hiding the card by removing your sweater. Two—” Harvey pauses to leer across the table. He has Mike’s attention and that burns bright in his chest. “—you didn’t put on a good show at all. No finesse.”

Mike grants him a lopsided grin. “Are you going to show me how it’s done, old man? Unbutton those buttons on your waistcoat nice and slow—and don’t forget to remove your eighteenth century sleeve garters while you’re at it.”

“Between the two of us I wouldn’t be the one stripping. I wouldn’t need to, I’d have you hot and bothered before I popped the first button.”

Harvey demonstrates by tracing his jaw with his cards and Mike’s gaze follows. Harvey moves down his neck, over the bump of his Adam’s apple to the edge of his collar. Mike licks his lips.

“But, uh, this isn’t strip poker. So.” Mike clears his throat and rubs a hand over his mouth. “Right.”

Mike darts another loaded glance at Harvey that drips heavy with his growing want and reveals the river. His face lights up and Harvey knows he’s probably won before they even show their hands. Still, somehow seeing that bright expression on Mike’s face, Harvey isn’t sure he’s disappointed.

Harvey might want to win at another game instead, no longer caring about the money or why Mike was cheating to get it.

“Your poker face is atrocious.” Harvey holds the corner of his cards against his lips, scraping them back and forth absently.

“Read ‘em and weep,” Mike crows, laying out a straight that definitely beats out Harvey. He waggles his brows in triumph.

“I don’t really do feelings, so you’ll have to assume I’m crying on the inside,” Harvey says, discarding the hand.

“Is that some kind of challenge?” Mike tilts his head, all false-coyness. He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip. His tentative flirting seems to give way to a bolder approach. “Bet I could make you cry on the outside, too.”

A slow, shark-like smile spreads on Harvey’s face. He’s winning tonight. “We should put that to the test.”

“Let me plow you in this last round first,” Mike concedes.

Harvey barks out a deep, surprised laugh and folds his hands comfortable behind his head. “You’re cheeky. I like it.”

Mike looks up from shuffling the card deck, pleased. Harvey’s more than tempted to forgo the final card match in favor of finding out what Mike tastes like. His mind struggles to remain on poker when Mike deals the last round.

Their flirting ramps up, words growing more suggestive until Mike’s sprawled against his seat, knees apart, and eyes burning for Harvey. Heat licks across Harvey’s skin beneath his clothes and before they make it to the river card, Harvey’s had enough teasing.

“If you really want to have fun, put those cards down for a minute and come over here.” Harvey pats the sofa next to him. “Let’s forget about poker for a little bit. Why rush? We’ve got all night and I could use a break.”

“Pick up where we left off?” Despite his question, Mike sets his cards aside and skirts the table. “Is this part of your finesse lesson?”

“Something like that.” Harvey’s voice is a low, rumbling murmur.

He expects Mike to sit next to him, like earlier. It’s a heady, delightful surprise when Mike straddles him and goes for a kiss right away. Harvey likes a man that knows what he wants. His palms trail up Mike’s thighs and rest on his hips, squeezing when Mike’s tongue darts along his lower lip. He parts his lips and seizes control of their kiss, angling his head.

Harvey slides his hands under Mike’s shirt, up the smooth skin of his back. Mike bucks his hips into Harvey’s stomach and works his tie loose to get at Harvey’s skin. Mike breaks away from the kiss to drag his teeth over Harvey’s jaw, down his neck, sucking and biting while his fingers scrabble with the next button.

Harvey grabs Mike’s ass and directs him to rub against the front of Harvey’s two thousand dollar slacks, where his erection throbs.

“Oh fuck,” Mike breathes, inhaling deeply as he buries his face in Harvey’s neck. “God, you smell good. What the hell is that?”

“Expensive,” Harvey replies through puffs of laughter, too busy kissing Mike wherever he can reach.

Mike arcs back and wrestles out of his shirt in a fluid motion and Harvey distracts him by teasing his nipples. Mike gets Harvey back, trailing biting kisses along the open v of Harvey’s collar as he plucks at the buttons. They get lost in long kisses for a few minutes.

“Shoes,” Mike mutters when he breaks free of Harvey’s grasp. He fumbles and shoves his ratty Converse from his feet and tumbles out of Harvey’s lap while he struggles with the fly on his jeans.

“Shit, are you all right?” Harvey’s concern is colored with laughter. When was the last time he laughed this much during sex?

“Fine, fine,” Mike assures him, maneuvering onto his back to shuck his jeans and briefs together.

“Finesse, rookie,” Harvey murmurs, though he’s not really complaining anymore, now that Mike is stunning and naked and kneeling between Harvey’s legs. Harvey’s fingers go to Mike’s chin, thumb plucking at his lower lip. “You know what? Never mind.”

A cheeky grin crosses Mikes face and he skims his hands from Harvey’s knees to the tops of his thighs. “Can I take you out?”

“By all means,” Harvey says. Had any of his partners asked permission for that before? _That’s hot_ , Harvey thinks.

Mike undoes Harvey’s fly, untucks his shirt and unbuttons from the bottom up. Harvey goes for the buttons on his vest. Mike stills him, an embarrassed flush coloring his face.

He bites his lip. “Will you…leave that on?”

Smirking, Harvey lifts his hands in surrender and files this new detail away: _Mike has a thing for Harvey’s waistcoat_.

Mike resettles on his knees, fingers brushing Harvey’s erection. He guides Harvey’s dick into his mouth and sucks, eyes flicking up to watch Harvey’s reactions. The wet-hot perfection of Mike’s mouth on Harvey draws a shudder out of him.

“Like that,” Harvey murmurs encouragingly when Mike takes him deeper and bobs back up, tongue fluttering in an exquisite pattern. Harvey is torn between dropping his head back to sink into enjoying the blowjob or watching intently. “God, yes. That’s so good.”

Mike hums in acknowledgement and Harvey’s hands shoot to his head, nails scraping over his scalp. A sound of approval rumbles in Mike’s throat and he sucks Harvey’s cock deep into his mouth. Harvey spreads his legs wider and rocks his hips shallowly.

Harvey’s done for when Mike does this swirling thing with his tongue. Before he can even process the sensations rocketing through him in a streak of heat and pleasure, he’s coming. Harvey’s fingers flutter over the stretch of Mike’s lips around his cock while Mike cranes his neck to burn through Harvey with a gaze full of fire.

Time slips by in a haze for several seconds and when Harvey comes back to himself, Mike is dragging his lips over his thighs, nuzzling against Harvey like he’s a dog looking for scratches for being good.

“Come up here,” Harvey says softly, patting his thigh.

Mike straddles Harvey’s lap once more, erection a hot, silky glide against the strip of skin that peaks out beneath his waistcoat and shirt. Harvey wraps his fingers around Mike’s dick and savors the way it makes him hiss. Mike’s eyes flutter closed and his head tips back. Harvey cups his neck, thumb brushing over Mike’s pulse and prods beneath Mike’s chin to direct his head back further. He’s a fucking beautiful sight in Harvey’s lap.

“You’re such a good boy,” Harvey murmurs.

Mike bites his lip and thrusts into Harvey’s hand.

“Now,” Harvey commands, soft but firm. “Look at me.”

Mike’s eyes are dark and lust-blown when he follows Harvey’s direction, lips parted on a shallow gasp. Harvey strokes him at a steady pace, keeping him dancing on the edge of frustration when it’s not enough to get him off. Mike squirms and tries to get more, meeting Harvey’s strokes with shallow thrusts and gripping Harvey’s shoulders.

“Come on, please,” Mike grunts.

Harvey suspects that Mike begs beautifully. He wants it—wants so much more than they have time for in one night. Harvey wants to keep Mike, make him his and discover every way to take him apart and put him back together.

Mike groans in protest when Harvey lets go, only to shut up quickly because Harvey spits into his palm and squeezes Mike’s cock tighter.

“God, yes, yes,” Mike whispers, shivery at the slick slide of Harvey’s grip.

Mike captures his lips in a sloppy, unfocused kiss that turns Harvey on. His cock starts to perk back up, though he’ll still need a bit of time before he’s ready for the next round. Harvey sucks on Mike’s tongue and jerks him fast. Mike’s legs shake and he arches into Harvey’s touch. Harvey wraps his arm around Mike’s waist and hauls their bodies even closer together.

“Come on, come for me,” Harvey croons, attention locked on Mike’s expression of impending bliss. Mike moans, fingers sliding into the back of Harvey’s hair. “Come for me,” Harvey repeats. “All over me.”

“Oh—fucking… _fuck_ ,” Mike chokes out and then he’s shooting all over Harvey’s waistcoat.

“That’s it,” Harvey praises, his whole body alight with thrumming desire. He works Mike through it, hand slowing as Mike trembles with aftershocks. Harvey glances down at the mess on his expensive clothes, heat pulsing through him. “Good boy.”

Mike leans against Harvey with no regard for the sticky mess, kissing him with a tender gentleness that snakes around Harvey’s heart and squeezes. Harvey strokes Mike’s back and wraps his arms around him while they exchange chaste kisses. Mike sits up after a few minutes, before Harvey’s ready to let him go.

“I’m getting a cramp in my leg.” Mike hums when Harvey drops his hands over his thighs and massages. Mike tips sideways and slides off Harvey’s lap, slumping against the arm of the sofa. He catches sight of Harvey’s clothes. “Oh—shit, I’m sorry. Um, you can get it out with a cold water soak and, uh, dishwasher soap if it’s stubborn.” Mike scratches the tip of his nose, eyes averted for a beat before darting back. “That was really fucking hot, though.”

Harvey makes a dismissive gesture. “I’ll buy a new one.” He settles against the back of the sofa. “It was worth it, otherwise I wouldn’t have done it.”

Mike makes an exaggerated explosive noise and spreads his fingers wide next to his head with a lopsided smile.

“What is that?”

“Mind blowing,” Mike explains. He squints at Harvey. “Man, you’re really old aren’t you.”

Harvey chuckles. “Why don’t you go take a shower to get cleaned up and I’ll join you in there after I order us a snack for dessert to the room.”

“The sex wasn’t dessert?” Mike asks sarcastically.

Harvey swats his bare ass when he shuffles by on his way to the shower. Harvey peels out of the rest of his clothes while the shower starts up, leaving them in a pile to be discarded. René will forgive him for desecrating one of his works of art when Harvey orders three new ones. Thumbing through the room service menu, Harvey calls to order one of everything from the dessert selection.

Harvey joins Mike in the shower where they spend twenty minutes alternating between making out, soaping up, and getting handsy while they grind together. There’s none of the rush from the first round. Harvey’s riding the enjoyable edge of pleasure each time he grabs Mike’s hips to rock against him.

Their dessert cart is waiting for them when they get out of the shower and the bed is turned down.

Harvey takes Mike’s hand and the cart and goes to the platform bed. He pulls Mike down to sit on the edge of the mattress and feeds him a bite of one decadent dessert at random. Mike hums and burrows into Harvey’s shoulder, tongue sneaking out to swipe against his skin.

“You taste better,” Mike says. He forgoes the spoon to break off a piece of brownie and holds it to Harvey’s lips in offering. “Try this one.”

Harvey keeps his eyes on Mike as he parts his lips and takes the whole bite, along with Mike’s fingers, into his mouth. He sucks them clean until Mike’s eyes flutter. They feed each other a few more tastes until Mike gets chocolate sauce on the corner of his mouth. Harvey kisses him, tasting the sweetness on his tongue. Mike falls back against the bed, dragging Harvey with him.

Harvey’s heart thumps at the way he fits, slotted between Mike’s legs that automatically open. Mike hooks his calf over the back of Harvey’s thigh and ruts up, biting into his lip until it’s red. Harvey marvels at the arch of his neck, the satisfied curl of his lips, the heavy-lidded leer.

They crash together like a wave, urgency building once more as their hands roam over bare skin. Harvey means to pause long enough to retrieve a condom, but he’s too entwined in kissing Mike to stop. This is good, like this. He gets a hand around both of their erections.

Between sensual, filthy kisses, Mike whispers a litany of, “Harvey, Harvey, Harvey.”

Harvey is fascinated by the tremors that dance down Mike’s spine, learning the way to twist his hand like it’s sacred knowledge he’ll need for the future. He swallows Mike’s sounds and breathes in the promises he makes if Harvey will just _let him come, please_. When Harvey hums and makes no effort in giving Mike what he wants, Mike shifts and flips their positions, caging Harvey in with his forearms.

“My turn,” Mike says.

Harvey spreads his legs and a deep groan rattles out of him when Mike rubs against him. This is good, too—better, even. Harvey should get up and get that condom; he wants, wants, wants in every position and combination possible. A coil of heat clenches in his stomach, flipping back and forth between the desire to rim Mike and bring him off with his fingers or for Mike to fuck into Harvey deep and drawn out. Oh shit, Mike sucks at his neck and Harvey’s close to tipping over the edge.

“Mike,” he says, edged with urgent desperation.

“Mm,” Mike responds, nipping the hot patch of skin throbbing, where Harvey might actually have a hickey in the morning.

It shouldn’t turn Harvey on so much that Mike marked him like they’re horny college kids, but electric heat zings through his dick all the same.

Mike snakes a hand between their bodies and wraps long fingers around their hard cocks. It’s not more than a minute before Harvey shakes apart beneath him and as he’s arching into his orgasm, Mike brushes a light kiss against his forehead. Mike presses his face into Harvey’s shoulder as he finishes himself, sighing with relief when he falls off the cliff into his own oblivion.

Harvey’s chest rises and falls with panting breaths. He drags Mike up to steal a hard kiss and puts effort into rolling out of bed. Harvey goes to the bathroom for a wet washcloth and returns to the bedside, swiping it over Mike’s hand and stomach, takes care of himself, and bodily rolls a delirious Mike over to the other side of the huge bed. Mike makes an unintelligible sound of content as Harvey helps him beneath the cool sheets. Harvey gives into the strong temptation to brush his fingers through Mike’s hair while he drifts at the edges of sleep. An unbidden smile breaks free.

Harvey turns off the lights and slips into bed with Mike. He drags Mike against him, wrapping an arm around his waist and a kiss against the back of Mike’s neck. Mike mumbles something that Harvey can’t interpret.

The smile is still on his face when Harvey falls asleep.

In the morning, Harvey’s limbs feel loose and sated in a way he hasn’t felt in a while, not since the last time Scotty was in town. He stretches, a leisurely groan rumbling in his chest. His arm reaches blindly across the sheets intent on seeking help with his morning wood before he has to leave for the city; Mike must have rolled away in the night.

The bed is cold and Harvey’s alone in it.

“Mike?” Harvey calls into the stillness.

There’s no answer.

Harvey sighs and gets up. The brownie dessert from their abandoned cart is mostly gone, but the others are left as they were. The card game is undisturbed at the coffee table. The money that sat at the edge of the game is gone along with Mike. Harvey snorts, but it lacks emotion.

He doesn’t check Mike’s cards to see if he really won their bet or not. Harvey doesn’t actually feel the loss of that money, anyway. As Harvey turns back to the bed, he notices a note left on the sheets he missed before.

_Leave the gun—take the cannoli._

_Thanks for last night,  
Mike_

Harvey smiles and shakes his head. He checks the time and scrubs a hand through his hair. He has enough time for a quick shower before Ray is due to pick him up to get him to the office.

Harvey hums the melody for Signed, Sealed Delivered in the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Quotes and References**  
>  1\. Signed, Sealed Delivered - Stevie Wonder song  
> 2\. “Relax, McDermott, this is off the record.” - Mike McDermott, Matt Damon’s character in Rounders, a movie about college kids counting cards in high-stakes poker to pay their tuition  
> 3\. “Quit pretending to be the caring D.A. so we can get back to playing poker. Bruce Wayne’s a better look on you.” - Harvey Dent, a friendly D.A. in Gotham that becomes Two-Face and Bruce Wayne, Batman  
> 4\. _Leave the gun—take the cannoli._ \- The Godfather

**Author's Note:**

> Comments + Kudos are ♥ | Come say hi on my Marvey [tumblr](http://marveylouswit.tumblr.com)!


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